


In Our Hearts

by Hana_Noiazei



Series: Trofilos [2]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Background MonaCau, DenNor, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, HongIce, Non-binary character, Other, mute character, restaurant AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 09:27:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,342
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28722837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hana_Noiazei/pseuds/Hana_Noiazei
Summary: Like most teenagers, Halle likes good food, video games and ragging on their brother. Unlike most teenagers, Halle is also an Internet-famous restaurant critic. After another explosive review, they begrudgingly visit a nearby Chinese restaurant at the request of a commenter, ready to be disappointed. But all their expectations - and practically everything they know about food - are blown away when they meet an alluring waiter at the restaurant.
Relationships: Denmark/Norway (Hetalia), Hong Kong/Iceland (Hetalia), Macau/Monaco (Hetalia)
Series: Trofilos [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1463068
Comments: 6
Kudos: 31





	1. Word Count

_Words: 0_  
_Characters: 0_

They've been staring for half an hour. Halle turns away from their laptop and rubs the sight of their white, empty word document out of their vision. It must be another of those days when the words just refuse to come no matter how hard they try, even if they need to be organised cleverly on the page and be publish-ready in mere hours. Writer's block has to be the bane of their existence.

Spinning back to their laptop, they grit their teeth and type out the title — " _A Sweet Nocturne at The Serenade_ ".

 _No, that's not it._ Halle deletes it and types again. " _The Serenade and Its Symphony of Flavours_ ".

 _Still not it,_ they think. " _The Phenomenal Food at The Serenade Will Have You Singing_ ".

 _That's practically clickbait._ They delete the title a third time and turn away again. Halle kicks away from their desk, the sound of their chair's wheels rolling across the floor grinding into their aching head. The chair skids across their room towards their door just as it swings open.

Their brother steps back, eyes wide. Halle looks up at him. "Hey, Stell."

Stellan pushes their desk chair back, nearly sending them crashing into their desk. He signs, _writer's block?_

"Yeah." They gesture to their document, blank once more. "Nothing I do can force the words out of my tiny brain. I tried that Comic Sans trick you suggested and even _that_ didn't work."

_Didn't you plan to have the review out by midnight?_

"Uh-huh. So unless I suddenly get a sudden surge of inspiration in the next four and a half hours, there's no way I'll have it ready."

 _You never write well on an empty stomach._ Stellan hooks a thumb towards the hallway. _Go have dinner first._

With a sigh of defeat, Halle stands up, switches the lights off and follows their brother downstairs to the dining room. A steaming plate of what appears to be cabbage rolls is waiting on the kitchen table. They glance at Stellan. "Are Mom and Dad home yet?"

He shakes his head before going to retrieve his own dinner, and sits down across them with a bowl of soup, which they tear up a roll of bread to soften in. Halle continues, "I'm surprised Henrik isn't here either."

 _He has to study for a test today,_ Stellan replies, referring to his boyfriend. _So it'll just be the two of us tonight._ They begin to eat slowly.

Halle cuts into their first cabbage roll and takes a bite. The pork and bacon inside of it are rich, the nigh-overwhelming flavour cut through with the tomato juice it was cooked in. They can taste the delicate cabbage, the spring-fresh herbs and the gentle, barely-there heat of red pepper flakes, none of them overpowering the other. Before they know it, they've finished one of their rolls.

Stellan taps his bowl with his spoon to get their attention. _I knew you were hungry,_ he signs with a slight smile.

"I guess so. Where did you get the recipe for this?"

 _I asked one of my classmates for it. He said it was called…_ He furrows his brow then signs slowly, _called S-A-R-M-A-L-E._

" _Sarmale_ ," Halle repeats. "If I recall, it's a dish from Romania, right?"

He nods, taking a careful bite of softened bread before putting their spoon down again. _I was worried I'd put too much garlic in._

"You can never have too much garlic."

_I suppose not._

They start on the second roll, careful not to eat it as quickly as they did the first. Stellan finishes his meal before they do, and carries his bowl to the sink where the rest of the dirty dishes are waiting. Halle follows soon after, and the two siblings stand side-by-side as they clean up in silence.

Once the last spoon has been carefully stowed away in their cutlery drawer, they walk back upstairs, the sound of their footsteps echoing quietly in the empty house. Stellan turns left to his room; Halle turns right to theirs. They half-fling themself on their desk chair, open up their laptop, and get back to writing.

Stellan was right — the words come easier now that they're not hungry any more. Halle taps away, fingers flying across the keys as letters turn into words, words into sentences and sentences into paragraphs. They only stop when they start to feel their wrists seizing up, and check the word count again.

_Words: 728_  
_Characters: 4121_

Not their fastest work, but it's definitely up there. Halle cracks their knuckles, blinks hard, and glances at the clock at the corner of their screen. They've been writing for nearly an hour already; maybe if they hurry they'll have the review completed, proofread and ready to be posted in time. They rub their eyes and continue.

All is silent except for the sound of their typing. The first draft is done by ten, the second by ten-thirty. They comb the document for more typos or redundancies that always seem to escape their scrutiny, and by the time it's eleven o'clock the entire review looks grammatically immaculate, or it at least should be.

The door swings open again, and Halle can tell just by the quiet wheeze that comes with every breath that it's Stellan. "Have you ever heard of knocking?"

He makes his way into his room and taps them lightly on the head.

"The review's done, by the way." They gesture to their laptop. "Something about your cooking got rid of my writer's block."

 _Well,_ Stellan responds, shrugging dismissively, _Henrik has always said my food was magical._

"Of course he'd say that."

 _Shut up._ He leans over them, scrolling through the document. He taps at one of the paragraphs.

Halle peers at it and groans. "Oh, of course." They delete an apostrophe and let Stellan keep scrolling down.

Once the few typos that they somehow didn't notice have been pointed out and the review has mostly been brother-approved, they copy everything on the document and paste it onto their website. Just to be sure, they skim the paragraphs, make sure their computer has enough power (losing all your progress because your computer gave out is never fun) and check the review length one last time.

_Words: 2064_  
_Characters: 11814_

They glance at the clock, then back at their screen, and hit _Publish _.__

__The site takes its sweet time loading the new page. It finally gets to showing the review a minute later, flooding Halle's eyes with the soft lilac of their website background. They yawn._ _

__Another glance at the clock tells them that it's nearly midnight, and they have school tomorrow. Halle gets up, rolling their shoulders, and goes to the bathroom to brush their teeth. The lights are off; their parents probably aren't home yet._ _

__When they get back to their room, Stellan no longer there, they reload the page and scroll down to already see a few comments waiting. Halle reads through them, smiling to themself all the while. They have no idea why people take to their reviews like ducks to water, but they're not exactly complaining. The money they get from readers goes to their college fund, after all. They reload the page again._ _

__A new comment has popped up. It reads:_ _

___regretmilktea: i'd automatically be suspicious of any place that combines chocolate with miso, but i'm sure you rated it four stars for a reason. can you please do a review of this chinese restaurant called wang's, by the way? i think you'd like it! (23:51 p.m.)_ _ _

__Of course there's one of those comments, where the commenter wraps a request with halfhearted compliments and expects them to accept it. Halle flips their reviewing notebook open to the first page, where all their "to-review" restaurants are listed. There are probably way more places they have to visit before even thinking about that request._ _

__Huh. _The Serenade_ was the last one. They write down _Wang's_ at the bottom of the list, below the other crossed-out places, then open a new tab to start researching. Sleep can wait._ _


	2. Anticipation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ran out of characters again so there's an OC in this fic! The local smartass Ella who debuts here is my Philippines OC.

_Why_ did they think four hours of sleep was enough?

Vision only _slightly_ blurry, Halle accepts a mug of coffee from their brother and sits down at the kitchen table. Their father glances at the dark, murky depths of the mug. "You really are too young to be having black coffee first thing in the morning."

"I'm sixteen, Dad." They take a sip of the coffee and immediately scald their tongue. "Dat's — " They wince. "That's plenty old enough."

"I'm over three times your age and I'm still too cowardly to have coffee without an unholy amount of milk and sugar," he jibes. "How your brother gets through it is beyond me."

Stellan shrugs, drinking his black coffee without trouble. Halle takes another cautious sip from their own mug and reels at the bitterness — it's way worse than they expected. Well, at least it woke them up.

Halle stayed up for two more hours after publishing their review of _The Serenade_ , looking up the new restaurant someone requested. Unlike most of the restaurants they've been to in the past, _Wang's_ doesn't have a website, an Instagram account or even a FaceBook page. They finally tracked the place down on Google Maps, and found out that the place is conveniently in their city — just in one of the shadier parts of town.

They barely manage to catch the plate of toast their father slides towards them. "Thanks."

"Why were you awake at two a.m.?" He asks. "It's not like you have anything to study for; you were done with all your tests last week."

"Someone asked me to check out a new restaurant. It's not far — I can visit it tonight." They yawn. "I am never staying up again."

 _Weak,_ Stellan teases.

"Don't rub it in."

The doorbell rings. Stellan glances in its direction, expression brightening, and places his mug down. With a slight smile, he stands up to go greet the person at the door.

Their father raises an eyebrow. "Is that Henrik?"

"Has to be," Halle says flippantly. "Nobody else shows up to our house this early."

They can hear the creak of the door opening, and the house is promptly filled with Henrik's loud voice. Halle cringes at the ridiculously-sappy nicknames they hear, all "honey" and "sweetheart" and "angel". _Disgusting._ The couple stamps upstairs, bringing their noise with them, and peace and quiet reign in the kitchen once more.

"Thank goodness." They go back to their toast.

The silence lasts all of five minutes before Henrik and Stellan thunder back into the kitchen, deep in conversation. Henrik strides over to the kitchen table with that blinding grin of his, ruffling Halle's hair until it's almost as unruly as his own. "Hey, you're up early!"

They dodge before he can mess up their hair even more. "Well, unlike you university kids, I don't have the privilege of choosing not to take eight o'clock classes." They yawn again. "Gosh, I'm too tired for school."

 _Nobody told you to stay up that late._ Stellan yanks his boyfriend back, reaching up to wipe a toothpaste stain away from the collar of his shirt.

Halle glowers at him. "How dare you remind me my actions have consequences."

"Speaking of consequences," their father speaks up, "you best get going. The bus will be here in ten minutes."

Henrik has begun to fuss over Stellan, peppering him with questions on whether he's eaten yet, if he's drunk enough water, et cetera et cetera. _Absolutely disgusting._ Halle polishes off the last of their toast and runs upstairs to get their stuff. They wave briefly at their father and the sickenly-happy couple before stepping out of the house.

The bus pulls up the moment they arrive at the bus stop. They drop their payment into the coin box, taking their usual seat by the window. The city whizzes past, and the rumble of the bus combines with the idle chatter of passengers in a lazy, early-morning daze. Halle nearly drifts off to sleep again, before the bus makes a sudden stop and jolts them awake. After picking their bag and thankfully-undamaged phone off the floor, they resolutely swear they are _never getting less than six hours of sleep again_.

Two stops and three self-wakeups later, the bus arrives at the stop nearest to their school. Halle slings their bag over their shoulder, rubs their eyes again and gets off.

The streets are, as usual, a sea of green and white. Everywhere they look are kids from their school, clumped together in their little groups as they walk towards the campus while chatting and laughing. Just barely managing to avoid slamming into a tittering group of second-years ( _gosh, they're tiny_ ), Halle yelps in surprise, caught off guard, when somebody tackles them from behind.

"Good mornin'!" Their attacker shows herself, smiling ear to ear. "You look half-dead."

"What an astute observation," they say drily. "Does it really show that much?"

"Well, you're acting more like a gremlin than usual, which is a pretty good sign that you're sleep-deprived. Normal Halle would wait until _at least_ nine o'clock to start being sarcastic."

Ah, Erika. Where would they be without her? Halle dodges another group of juniors and replies, "I'm glad to see you're as cheery as ever, at least."

"It's just to mask my impending fear of failing all the tests we had last week because if I did all my plans for the future are going to crumble before my very eyes and I'll lose my will to live."

"I — " They pause. "Okay."

The two of them step into the school building and begin climbing the many flights of stairs to reach their classroom. The moment they open the door, they're greeted with the beautiful sight of one of their classmates tripping over another's wheelchair while the ten others in their class watch, greatly amused.

Erika sweeps into the classroom to help pull her friend Raivis, sitting on the floor looking absolutely defeated, to his feet. "How do you miss an entire wheelchair?" She laughs.

"All I'm running on right now is coffee and sadness." Raivis dusts his pants off. "There's no room left in my brain for common sense. Uh, sorry Ella."

The girl in question shrugs nonchalantly. "Apology accepted. Maybe."

"Yeah, screw you too."

"Raivis!" Erika elbows him. "Be nice."

"It's okay, we're all terrible people first thing in the morning." Ella wheels away carefully, making sure not to roll over anyone's toes. "Especially right after Hell Week is over."

"Oh, don't remind me," Halle groans. They make their way to their desk and set their bag down next to it, then sink into their chair. "I screwed up history so bad."

"I don't think I understood half the questions in my chemistry test."

Erika giggles. "Ah, imagine taking a science subject."

They pull out their laptop and open up to their website. A few more comments on their review of _The Serenade_ have popped up overnight, some of them containing constructive criticism and some consisting solely of unintelligible key-smashes — nothing new. A few people have upvoted the comment requesting a review of _Wang's_.

Raivis nears their desk and Halle slams their laptop shut. Raivis snorts. "Calm down, I'm not going to look at your screen. It's not like you'd ever be looking at any weird stuff."

"Define 'weird stuff'."

"I dunno, crappy Netflix movies with questionable scenes or something like that." He sits down next to them. "Ugh, I really can't think."

Halle cautiously opens up their laptop again, this time going on Twitter. A restaurant they don't even remember visiting has mentioned them, thanking them for a review they posted five months ago. They pull out their reviewing notebook and flip to the notes they took for the place, squinting at their messy scrawl. Apparently the place was "woefully mediocre, dishes most definitely edible but outshone by many other places that provide it". No wonder they don't remember it.

"Whatcha looking at, Puff?" Erika has draped herself over the back of his chair. "Got another sponsor or something?"

"Please don't call me 'Puff'."

"But you call yourself that all the time!"

"Online, Erika. Only online. And it's used by people who, unlike you, haven't known me for four years."

"Sure, Puff," she teases. "Or should I use your full name? Sure, PuffinReviews."

"I hate you so much."

"Love you too."

The teacher steps into the classroom and everyone falls silent. Halle closes their laptop again. Their reviewing notebook is resting on their lap, and they resist the urge to open it up again and look through old notes. This evening, they'll get to fill up its pages once again.

…

"So what are you expecting? Is it gonna be a hidden gem or a total cesspool?"

Halle takes another bite of leftover _sarmale_ and replies, "I have no idea. I couldn't find a single review of the place anywhere, which is a first."

On their right, Ella asks, "what's the place called again?"

" _Wang's_. It's a Chinese restaurant close by."

"Hey, I've been there before! The food is really good, and it doesn't cost much. Be sure to have an arm-wrestling match with the waiter after you're done."

"What?"

"Arm-wrestle the waiter," she repeats. "His arms are even weaker than yours."

They cut out a forkful of _sarmale_. "Arm-wrestling aside, is the service good?"

"It's great. There's only one waiter and two cooks, but they get the food out pretty quickly." Ella pulls out her phone and swipes through it. "The choir went there after winning the chorus festival back in October and they managed to whip up food for all forty of us." She shows him a photo.

In the photo, the school choir is grinning at the camera, cramped around a few round tables pushed together. Red lanterns seem to be hanging from the ceiling, making the entire place awash in a soft scarlet glow.

"The place isn't decorated like that all the time." She points at the lanterns. "The girl running the cashier said it was a sort of festival and they decided to hang lanterns to celebrate or something, so it'll probably look different when you go."

The tables in the photo are practically covered in food. The blurry pixels show plates of what look like potstickers, steamed eggs, tofu puffs and even more dishes Halle can't name. There's no way they can cover all of them in one visit.

"So what do you think?" Ella switches her phone off.

Halle smiles. They can already see their notebook, flattened open to a new page that's half-concealed by the table. "I can't wait."


	3. Pepper and Pain au Chocolat

The hours go crawling by, snail-slow, and the moment the half-three bell rings Halle all but jumps out of their chair, bag in hand, and runs for the bus station. They're panting as they sit down on the bus, and pull out their phone to see a few texts from Erika.

**Erika**  
_Got a place to review? (Sent 15:31)_  
_I've never seen you run so fast (Sent 15:31)_

They reply, still trying to catch their breath:

_Yeah, got a request last night (Sent 15:32)_  
_Gonna stop by the Boulangerie for tea before heading there (Sent 15:33)_

**Erika**  
_Ohh thats why (Sent 15:33)_  
_Well have fun and don't blow your cover (Sent 15:34)_

The bus begins to move. They hop off a couple of stations later, closer to the city centre, and cross the road to a blue-awninged shop. A bird-shaped wind chime greets cheerfully by the door as Halle pushes it open and steps into _Boulangerie Bonnefoy_. The bakery smells like cinnamon today, rich and warm and comfortable. Some French singer croons a jazz song in the background.

Matthieu Bonnefoy is manning the counter today, slicing up a _ficelle_ at breakneck speed. He sweeps the cut-up loaf into a canvas bag, hands it to his customer and waves them goodbye with a slight smile. After he's placed his bread knife down, and fixed the lighting in the cake-filled display case, he waves to Halle. "Hey."

"Hi, Matthieu." Halle takes out their purse and counts out a few coins, which they slide across the glass countertop. "Where's Madeline, by the way?"

"On a date," Matthieu replies, making a face. "She has a boyfriend now, you know. The two of them are so in love with each other."

"Oh, I know how that feels. Stell and Henrik are the most nauseating couple in existence."

He lets out a quiet huff of laughter. "You should be glad they're not here today, they're so sweet they could make a cat sick."

Halle turns away for a moment to retrieve a _pain au chocolat_ from one of the clear shelves, handing it to Matthieu. "How's your brother doing, by the way?"

"Same old, same old." He places the pastry into the small microwave oven behind the counter, adding, "Francis is planning to go back to Nice to visit our dad during the summer vacation and Madeline wants to go to Quebec, basically leaving me to run this old place by myself." Matthieu snorts, pushing his glasses up. "I can already see the carnage."

"Come on, you're not a bad baker," they reassure. "My brother once set his tarts on fire."

…

Time passes by quicker than they expected, way faster than it just did at school, and seven o'clock rolls around soon enough. Halle flips their textbook shut, turns their laptop off and begins packing their stuff into their bag. Their neck cramps whenever they tilt their head back the tiniest bit. Matthieu watches them from the counter, sweeping crumbs off a chopping board.

"I'll be going now," Halle says, standing up with their bag over their shoulder. "See you tomorrow."

They step out of the _Boulangerie_ , once again hearing the wind chimes tinkle behind them, and head for the bus station once more. The ride to _Wang's_ should take about ten minutes, the meal an hour and the ride home nearly twenty minutes. With luck, they should be back home by half-past eight.

Once the bus has pulled up and they've sat down, Halle reaches into their bag to pull out their reviewing notebook. The purple-covered notebook is wrinkled and falling apart, half of its pages having already been torn from the rings. Their favourite pen is tucked into the spine, and its ridged cap scrapes against the chipped metal rings as they pull it out. When the bus stops at a traffic light, Halle flips the notebook open and scrawls the header for their review: " _Wang's — 16th March 2024_ ".

They jump off a few minutes later, notebook and pen tucked under their arm. This part of Trofilos is far quieter, the stores lining the pavement less polished and picturesque than those in the city centre. Halle stops in front of a store with Chinese characters painted in wine-red and double-checks Google Maps. This is the spot.

There are no friendly wind chimes to welcome them by the door when they open it, nor classy music playing in the background. The lanterns that were in Ella's photo are gone, no longer bathing the simple plum walls in their light. With a deep breath, Halle approaches the cashier. The girl manning it looks up and flashes him a bright smile, flicking a lock of ebony-dark hair over her shoulder. "Good evening, and welcome! How may I help you?"

"May I have a table for one?" They look around the restaurant and the few people sitting there.

"Of course; just follow me." The girl leads them to a table at the centre of the restaurant. Halle sinks down on the hard plastic stool, carefully placing their bag on the one next to them. She places a menu down in front of him, still smiling, and sweeps away. Halle glances towards the cashier to make sure she isn't looking and flips the notebook open on their lap.

" _Wang's_ ," they begin, " _appears to be simple at first glance, with no notable decorations, unremarkable furniture and a lonely atmosphere. But of course, I'm not here to judge how the restaurant looks, but how its food tastes. So I'll hold my judgement, as I should, until I order something._ "

A waiter is approaching. Halle closes their notebook, nodding up at him, and prays he didn't notice.

A steamy, fragrant cup of tea, a porcelain spoon and a pair of chopsticks are placed down in front of them, and the waiter pulls out a notepad of his own. "Hey." He looks to be about his age, shifting his weight from foot to foot while looking at them. His chocolate-brown fringe is about to fall into his eyes.

"Uh, good evening."

"You ready to order?"

No waiter has ever acted so nonchalantly before. They glance at the menu, which they still haven't touched. They don't have much time to eat, and after having the _pain au chocolat_ during the afternoon they definitely can't order too much. "Er, I…" Halle blinks. "I guess you can bring me this restaurant's speciality? Yeah, that would be good."

"Sure, sure." The waiter scribbles something down and looks at them. Halle notices a splash of freckles across his nose. "Will that be all?"

"Yes, I think so. Thanks."

The waiter gives them a half-smile and heads for the kitchen. They open their notebook again, uncap their pen and continue to write. " _The waiter is unprofessional_ ," they want to jot down, but they stop themself with a firm reminder, _no judgement until the food arrives._

They take note of the flowers painted on the rickety table and the muffled sounds of cooking from the faraway kitchen, chewing on their pen cap. A page is swiftly filled, and they're about to start writing a second when the waiter comes back. Halle jumps, nearly knocking their chopsticks off the table, and the waiter stares at them. "Sorry, did I scare you?"

"No, no, it's fine," they say hastily, tossing their notebook onto the other chair. It slides off their bag and sits at the edge of the plastic surface, precariously close to falling off.

"Got homework to do or something?"

"Uh, yeah. You know how busy school can get."

He places a steaming bowl in front of him. "Here you go. These are wonton noodles, and they contain shrimp so I sure hope you aren't allergic to them."

"I'm not, don't worry." They look down. Five wontons sit atop a cluster of thin yellow egg noodles, soaked in golden broth that fills the bowl nearly to the brim. The waiter places a dish of chopped chives next to the bowl. "Thanks."

The waiter steps away, leaving Halle to eat. They take the spoon, scoop up one of the wontons, careful not to tear the soft, delicate wrapping, and take a bite.

Its strong richness mingles with the scent of white pepper, the shrimp is blanketed by the paper-thin wrapper, and they can taste just a hint of star anise — or is that just his imagination? Halle drops some of the chives into the broth and drinks a spoonful, shocked at the melange of flavours that it yields — the pepper-spiced, umami-yet-light and almost-sweet aftertaste it leaves is like nothing they've ever had before. The bouncy noodles complete the meal, springy where the wontons are soft and mild where the broth is flavourful. Wonton, broth and noodle combine, one flavour after the other. The bowl is finished before they know it, and their notebook is devoid of remarks.

They stare down at the singular page of writing. There's no way they can publish this one page, a mere four paragraphs, as their review, but it's not like they can order more stuff today. Closing their notebook, Halle stands up, swipes the receipt on the table and heads for the counter. They pay, pick up their bag and get ready to leave when the waiter runs up to them. "Hey," he calls, "you left your pen."

"Oh!" Halle takes the pen from him. "Thank you."

"I hope you enjoyed the food, even if it wasn't what you were expecting." He runs his fingers through his hair. "Wonton noodles are a new addition to the menu, so the chefs aren't really used to making it, but was it good anyway?"

"Yeah, it was great," slips out inadvertently. "I'll be visiting again for sure."

He looks like he's about to respond when the girl at the cashier laughs. "Come on, Leon, don't ramble."

Leon rolls his eyes good-naturedly and goes to clean up a table. Halle turns away, looking back at the restaurant, now empty of customers, and steps out into the night.


	4. Next Time

The house is quiet when Halle steps inside, and the first floor is completely dark. They take off their shoes at the door and slowly walk upstairs. Halfway to their room, the door to the office creaks open and their mother pokes her head out. "Halle?"

They freeze. "Hi, Mom."

"Why weren't you home for dinner?"

"I, uh, was visiting a restaurant," they stammer, and add weakly, "I told Dad."

She rubs her temples. "I guess he didn't tell me, then. How was it?"

They fiddle with their reviewing notebook, replying, "it was okay. The place serves a lot of food and I didn't want to get home too late, so I didn't manage to get much down. I'll definitely be going again."

Her tired eyes light up. "Maybe we can go this Saturday, after my conference call in the morning. We haven't gone to a restaurant together in a while."

"Yeah, that would be fun."

"Have you finished your homework, by the way?" Their mother glances briefly into the office before looking back at them.

"I did it before going to dinner." Halle yawns. "And I don't have any tests this week, so I don't have to study for them just yet."

"Go take a shower, then. I have three articles to write by the end of the week."

That piques their interest, and they ask, "articles on what?"

Their mother grimaces. "A feature piece on some 'self-made' billionaire who looks like he'd make sexist jokes, something about two celebrities I don't care about getting together and another piece fuelling the insecurities of university students. You know, the usual."

"Oh, yikes. I guess I have it better with only reviews to write."

"You really do." She shoos him away with a smile. "I'll talk to you more at breakfast tomorrow."

…

While their hair dries from their shower, Halle types what they can onto a new document. Even when double-spaced, the lines don't reach halfway down the page, and the word count tells them they're only at three hundred words. Right now, the passage is more of a lengthy text message than an actual review. They open another tab and begin looking through some inane online drama.

Right in the middle of so-and-so accusing who's-their-face of liking Some Guy's problematic Tumblr post from three years ago, the door swings open and Stellan walks in. He throws one of their pens onto their desk and flops down onto the bed. _How was Wang's?_

"Well, like the deeply intelligent person I am, I forgot to comment on the food."

He claps sarcastically, eyeing the vicious callout thread currently displayed on Halle's screen. _Looks like you're hard at work copying down the review._

"Well, there isn't much to copy down. I only managed to write a page." They stretch, hearing their shoulders crack. "Anyways, enough about me. How was your day?"

_I nearly threw hands with Aleksander over a poem. Again._

They snort. "Which poem?"

 _Auden's "Lay Your Sleeping Head"._ Stellan lets out a silent huff and continues, hands flying, _I told him it was a tragic love story between an immortal and their lover, but they keep insisting it's just a flawed person monologuing into the night._

It takes Halle a moment to figure out what their brother is signing. "You said the poem was what?"

 _A tragic love story between an immortal and their lover,_ they sign, this time slower. _I said I interpreted it like that because of the line "grave the vision Venus sends of supernatural sympathy", which is about Venus sympathising with this immortal and their doomed love._

"Huh?" They repeat some of the signs, trying to figure out what they are, before giving up and saying, "I don't think I understood half the things you said — "

_I never said anything._

"You know what I mean."

 _Maybe._ He shrugs cryptically. _Henrik and I went to The Cove after class, and I forgot my bag there. Also again._

"Who told you this time?"

_We were halfway to the bus station before I stopped and thought, "oh crap, my bag!". I left Henrik at the station and ran back to get it._

"So it's just a normal day in the life of Stellan Grieg. Got it."

Stellan kicks their chair. _Listen, at least I remembered I left it this time. Remember when I left my wallet all the way back in Norway last year, and didn't realise until we got back home?_

The laptop screen's growing dim, so Halle just closes it while answering, "at least you left it at Grandma's house and not on the streets. Who knows what would've happened to the whole two kroner you had in there."

 _Oh, shut up._ His phone dings with the arrival of a new message. Stellan pulls it out, reads it and smiles, face lit up by the glow of the screen.

"Let me guess, that was a text from Henrik."

_No, it was from Aleksander admitting that my theory about the Auden poem was more feasible than his. The words "you know what, Stell? You were right." just make me feel some kind of way._

They roll their eyes. "You are so egotistical."

 _I like to think it's confidence instead,_ he responds loftily. Stellan gets up from the bed and walks out the door, not closing it behind him like he always does.

Halle stands up, shaking the feeling back into their legs, to close the door. They can hear the muffled sounds of their father holding a call, and the soothing classical music their mother likes to put on when she's writing. All of a sudden, their phone starts to ring, and they jump. Running back to their desk, they answer the call and say, "hello?"

"Hey!" Ella greets. Somebody appears to be yelling in the background.

"Hi," they say back. "You need help with anything?"

"Why are you assuming I called just to ask for something?"

She can't see him, but Halle rolls their eyes again and stays silent. After a few minutes, Ella groans, continuing, "okay, maybe I wanted to hear about your visit to _Wang's_ , but I also need to copy your English homework."

"I knew it." They put the call on speaker and rifle through their backpack in search of their reading comprehension paper. "Hold on, I'll send the worksheet to you."

"You're a lifesaver." A door creaks open on her side. "Did you arm-wrestle the waiter?"

"Nope." Halle takes a photo of their paper's first page. "Couldn't even finish the whole review. "

"Aw, that's a shame."

They finish taking a photo of the fourteenth and final page of the paper, and begin sending them to Ella. "We didn't have any other homework for history other than that source-based question, right?"

"Not that I know of." The pings of notifications begin ringing. "Oh, thanks. I owe you one."

A "low battery" alert pops up on their phone before they can answer. "Hey, I think my phone's gonna die."

"Why am I not surprised?" She laughs. "You never charge your phone. I'll hang up to start copying the paper now, and you should make sure your phone has enough battery to get through tomorrow. See ya!"

"See you."

Ella hangs up, and Halle rushes to plug their phone in before it can die. Setting their phone down, they go to lie on their bed and stare at the ceiling. They can still taste the wontons they had.


	5. Let Them Eat Cake

"I'm sorry, but there's no way anyone can eat that much coconut."

"Nonsense, it's not as much as it looks!"

Halle eyes the massive bag of desiccated coconut weighing Henrik down. "That's not as much as it looks?"

"It'll shrink after we cook it, just you wait," Henrik says nonchalantly, tossing the bag onto the kitchen counter. By some sort of miracle, it doesn't burst open and spray coconut everywhere upon contact. "The coconut is the best part of _drømmekage_!"

 _The best part of_ what? "What even is this dr — dro — this cake?"

"It's only the best cake ever." Not even looking at them, he starts cracking eggs into a bowl, then adds sugar. "The actual cake itself is just your average vanilla cake, but the topping — " Henrik sighs dramatically — "Oh, the topping! It's this lovely thick layer of buttery, sugary coconut that's gotten all chewy and caramel-ly from being baked. My mom always makes the topping as thick as the cake itself because it's just that good." He grabs a whisk next and starts beating the eggs and sugar together. "You're gonna love it."

They glance at the recipe half-buried under the rest of the ingredients, written in Henrik's nigh-illegible scrawl. "Uh, is there anything I can do while you whisk?"

Henrik grabs the now-softened packet of butter and throws it at Halle, who barely manages to catch it. "Cut out about fifty grams and melt it, then add two tablespoons of milk."

The butter-milk mixture is soon finished, filling the kitchen with a lovely smell, but the eggs and sugar have apparently yet to reach the desired consistency. Halle waits a few moments, periodically swirling the mixture around in the saucepan, before asking, "you sure you don't need the electric beater?"

"I'm sure," Henrik says doggedly. "There's nothing wrong with a bit of elbow grease, is there?" He lifts the whisk, watching the liquid dribble from it and back into the bowl, and smiles triumphantly. "Look, they're nice and fluffy already! Now pour the milk and butter in."

Next to be added to the batter is the flour, then the baking powder. A few drops of vanilla essence completes it, and Halle rushes to coat the cake pan in butter before Henrik can pour in the contents of their mixing bowl. Into the oven it goes for twenty minutes — exactly enough time, according to Henrik, to make the coconut topping.

"First, we add the butter." Without a glance at the recipe, he unwraps the rest of the butter and drops the entire thing into the saucepan.

"Uh, shouldn't we measure it?"

"Not really, if it's too much we can just add more coconut to soak it up." Henrik switches on the heat and begins prodding the massive chunk of butter with a spoon. "There's no one way to make the topping, unlike the cake, so we can go wild with it." He stirs the butter around, nearly knocking the saucepan off the stove, and pours in what appears to be an ungodly amount of brown sugar.

Halle tears the packet of shredded coconut open and carefully measures out the correct amount, which they hand to Henrik once the butter is melted. They peer at the saucepan, currently filled with a sort of brown-and-white mush that looks anything but appetising. "No offence, but this doesn't seem very… uh…"

"Edible?" He jokes, yanking the pan off the heat. "Of course not, it's going to need to be baked for a while before the entire cake is done." The oven chimes across the kitchen. "Hey, just on time, too!"

Slipping on a pair of oven mitts, Halle goes to open the oven door and pulls out the steaming cake. It smells of vanilla. They hold it steady while Henrik approaches with the pan of coconut. Once the mixture has been spread over the surface of the cake, filling the pan to the brim, they slip it back into the oven for another ten minutes.

While the cake finishes up, Henrik glances out the kitchen and at the stairs, running one hand through his messy hair. "When do you think Stell's gonna wake up?"

They glance at their watch. "It's, like, nine a.m., so probably not for another hour. You know how he is on weekends."

"He's been working himself to death last week," Henrik says. "So hopefully the _drømmekage_ will cheer him up!"

"I still don't know how you say that."

"It's easy! Just say it with me: _drømmekage_."

"Dr — dro — " They frown. "Never mind."

The rich, sweet smells of coconut and sugar start to waft around the kitchen, and only grow stronger when Henrik pulls the cake out. The coconut topping has turned the golden-brown of rich caramel, rough and chewy-looking unlike the mush it was just a while ago.

"See?" He eases the cake out of the pan, unfazed by the heat, and places it onto a cooling rack. "I told you the coconut wouldn't be too much."

When cut open, the cross-section reveals that the cake is practically squashed under the weight of the coconut. Halle resists the urge to grab a slice for themself, instead setting it onto a plate and taking it upstairs. Stellan appears to still be asleep, but their mother's muffled voice emerges from the office. A flurry of voices, half-concealed by crackles and static, rise to respond to whatever she's saying. Weird. She's never had a conference call so early before. They quietly knock on the door, set the plate of _drømmekage_ down in front of it and walk back downstairs.

Henrik is done cutting up the rest of the cake when they get back into the kitchen. "Should we leave a slice for your dad?"

"He's not really a fan of sweet food, but let's leave one anyways." Halle takes another slice, careful not to let any crumbs fall onto the pristine countertop, and sets it on another plate. That one's covered in clingfilm and placed into the fridge.

Somebody steps quietly down the stairs. Halle opens their mouth, ready to greet their mother, before they hear that familiar wheeze and realise it's Stellan. He walks into the kitchen, blond hair still messy and sticking up in awkward places.

Eyes lighting up, Henrik drops the knife back into the cake pan and rushes to pull Stellan into a hug. "Mornin'!"

He lets Henrik hug him for a full minute before wriggling out of his embrace, tiredly signing, _good morning, dear._

"How did you sleep?"

 _All right._ Stellan yawns silently. He retrieves a mug from the kitchen sink and swings it around while he continues, _but I swear I was dreaming about Milton. That man haunts my every moment now._

Henrik clings on to him even as he shuffles towards the coffee machine. "Aww, you trying to make me jealous?"

He rolls his eyes and sets the mug down. _You wish._

Halle stares down at the cake pan. The serrated bread knife is starting to look very interesting.

The machine whirs to life, filling Stellan's mug with steaming, fragrant coffee. If only it tastes as good as it smells. They gingerly lift up a slice of _drømmekage_ and set it down onto a plate, which they slide across the countertop. "Henrik and I made cake for you. Good morning, by the way. I exist."

 _Good morning, you little nightmare._ Stellan catches the plate and goes to the cutlery drawer to get a fork. _I was going to tell you that before Henrik attached himself to me._

"Who are you calling a little nightmare?"

 _I'm right,_ he signs nonchalantly. Stellan cuts out a corner of the _drømmekage_ , tries it and his eyebrows raise. He puts the plate down, slowly chewing, and remarks, _it's good._

Henrik kisses the top of his head. "Not too sweet?"

"Stell could eat a sack of sugar and think it lacks flavour, of course it's not too sweet for him." Halle helps themself to their own slice, not even bothering to get a fork. Instead, they just break off a corner, scattering crumbs as they do, and pop it into their mouth.

Henrik was right. The topping is just slightly crunchy, but as chewy as caramel that melts in their mouth swiftly; it's not the sort of thing Halle would expect on a cake at all. The coconut imparts a flavour that's rich and bittersweet at the same time, mingling perfectly with the vanilla cake. It's fragrant, light and cotton-fluffy — in other words, it's pretty dang good. They break off another chunk and eat it before looking at Henrik and giving him a thumbs-up.

"Can't believe you doubted my baking abilities," he gloats. Beside him, Stellan nibbles at another forkful and smiles.

Upstairs, the door creaks open. They hear a quiet clink, before their mother calls, "Halle?"

The siblings look at each other. Stellan tilts his head towards the stairs, yet to free himself from Henrik's arms. Halle sets down their slice of _drømmekage_ and runs towards the office.

Their mother is holding the plate as she waits for them. "Did you make this yourself?"

"Henrik came over to make it, and I helped." They hook a thumb towards the kitchen. "He's still downstairs."

Her eyes crinkle as she smiles. "Tell him I say hello, won't you?" She shifts from one foot to another, glancing back into the office. "I've got two more meetings today and an ungodly amount of emails to deal with, neither of which I think will disappear by lunch."

Halle stares at her for a moment before they remember. The four of them were supposed to go to _Wang's_ today, and they nearly forgot. They shrug, answering, "it's okay, I can go myself."

Their mother ruffles their hair with a tired smile. "Let's go next week, okay?"

"Yeah, sure."

Cake in tow, she disappears into the office. Halle goes back downstairs. Just a couple of hours and they'll be back to _Wang's_ , ready to finish off that review.


	6. Incomplete

_Wang's_ appears to be livelier in the afternoon, with more tables occupied than during their visit just a few days ago. A smattering of quiet conversation permeates the silence hung so heavily in the air before, along with the soft clinks of chopsticks against bowls.

The girl at the cashier smiles as Halle approaches, eyes lighting up. "Welcome back! Will it be a table for one again?"

"Yes, please." They take a quick glance around the place as the girl leads them to a table, finding the walls just as bare as they were before. After they've sat down by one of those walls, they pull the thin menu towards themself and flick it open.

The menu is written in both English and Chinese, text printed simply in wine-red and devoid of the flowery borders or motifs indicative of the restaurants Halle is used to reviewing. There aren't even photos. The name of every dish is surprisingly on-the-nose, with no flowery title or metaphor to describe them. Well, at least they don't have to translate any terms here.

"Oh, it's you again."

The waiter from last time — Leon, they believe is his name — leans against their table, hair once again half-concealing his eyes. His notepad, half-covered in illegible handwriting, is sticking out from his pants pocket. Halle looks back up at him. "Hi."

Like last time, Leon sets down a cup of steaming tea and cutlery in front of them, then nudges at the menu. "Have you decided on what to order yet, or do you want a surprise like last time?"

"Uh, I'm not sure yet." They glance at the menu again, where the block text lists more dishes than they expected. "Do you have any recommendations?"

Leon tugs the menu out from right under Halle's hands and scans it before setting it down again and pointing at one of the dishes. "I assume you're just here for a light lunch, so you might like the fried pot-stickers, which we make entirely from scratch. If you want a side dish, the deep-fried tofu would be a good choice, and to finish off, the osmanthus jelly."

They weren't expecting to come across an unfamiliar dish so soon, given the Google search they did before visiting. Feeling like an idiot, Halle prays he won't laugh at the question and asks, "sorry, what jelly?"

"Osmanthus," he repeats. "It's a type of flower with a very fragrant, distinct flavour. The chefs make a syrup with that, mix some wolfberries in and that's basically the jelly."

Oh, gosh. "Er, what are — "

"Wolfberries?" Leon tilts his head, making more of his hair fall over his eyes. "Uh, I'd say they're kind of like cranberries but smaller and not as round. They're tart and slightly sweet, too. Some people say they're good for your eyes."

"I see." Halle looks back at the menu, the tips of their ears warm. "Sorry about the stupid questions."

"Don't sweat it, I wouldn't expect you to know every ingredient in existence or something. So do you want the stuff I just mentioned, or do you need some more time?"

The review is practically writing itself. _The waiter is informative, yet unprofessional. At any other restaurant, he would've been let go without a second thought — especially considering the fact that he's my age. But perhaps the head chef at this establishment has few options for staff —_

 _Not yet,_ they remind themself. _You're here to review the food, and that's it._ "I think I'll just have the pot-stickers and the osmanthus jelly, please."

He whips out his notepad and scribbles down the order, pen practically a blur, and asks, "d'you want anything to drink?"

"Just the tea you brought is fine, thanks."

"I'll be back with your food shortly."

Once Leon has left his table, Halle flips their notebook open and uncaps their pen. They could probably comment on the cup of tea in front of them, on how its bitterness fits perfectly with the gentle perfume of jasmines in full bloom, or its precise shade of golden-green. It's a different type of tea from the one they had last time, which could change the meal entirely as rare as the chance may be. They busy themself with a few sentences rambling about the sweet-smelling steam that rises from the stout little cup and how it might be an exciting prologue to the food they're about to have (disregarding the rather unsophisticated atmosphere of the restaurant, of course), and a good half a page is filled before Leon returns with a plate.

"Your pot-stickers." He sets it down on the table. "And I probably should've asked you this before serving, but you don't happen to be allergic to anything, right?"

"Nope?"

"And you're not a vegetarian or vegan?"

"No and no."

"Okay, good." Leon nudges the plate closer to them. "Enjoy your meal. Just give me a wave when you're ready for dessert."

Halle stares down at the plate, which displays ten off-white dumplings arranged in a circle. They pick up their chopsticks, making sure not to drop them and pick up the first pot-sticker.

The bottom is a deep, rich brown from being fried, and crunches audibly when they take a bite. An explosion of scalding-hot flavour hits them, nearly burning their tongue, and a hand flies to their mouth in shock. The minced pork inside the pot-sticker is unbelievably juicy, and the crunch of cabbage and scallions offsets the meat's richness so that it's not too overwhelming. Halle finishes the first pot-sticker and quickly writes a few lines before moving on to the second.

They dip a corner into the little dish of vinegar at the centre of the plate and start to eat, taken aback by how sharply sour the sauce is. But as shocking as the sudden burst of acidity is, it's the perfect counter to the meatiness of the filling. After a quick scan of their surroundings to make sure nobody's looking, Halle adds a bit more to their notebook.

With every pot-sticker they eat, another sentence is added, each one pointing out something particularly appetising about the dish — the softness of the wrapper for the most part, its amazing contrast with the crispy bottom, the way the pork filling is so juicy but never greasy, the hint of ginger in the vinegar and, just to tie in with the first few paragraphs they wrote, how the jasmine tea helps wash it all down. Halle raises a hand to get Leon's attention another page later, taking another sip of the now-lukewarm tea.

"How were the pot-stickers?" He asks while picking the plate up.

"Really good," they reply. "If it's not too much work, give the chef my compliments."

"My brother will be happy to hear you liked them."

"Your brother's the chef here?"

"Both of them, yeah." Leon refills their cup of tea. "And that's my sister at the cashier."

 _Well, that explains how he got this job._ "That's cool," they say awkwardly. _How do you reply to stuff like this?_

He shrugs and takes the plate away. No more than ten minutes later, Leon returns with a smaller plate, holding two cubes of clear yellow jelly. Suspended within them are crimson, almond-shaped berries.

Just as Leon described, the jelly is sweet and flowery, almost resembling the taste of honey. The wolfberries scattered throughout have a subtle tartness unlike anything they've ever had before, though it doesn't overpower the aroma of osmanthus. Light and fleeting as dandelion fluff in the wind, the two cubes of jelly are gone before Halle knows it, and they scrawl down what they can lest they forget.

Leon's sister counts their change once they're finished, sliding coins across the small surface of the cashier so quickly they barely manage to catch them before they fall onto the floor. "Thank you for dining at _Wang's_ , and we hope you visit again!" She says cheerily while giving them the last of their change. The last coin drops into their purse as they hear her sneeze. Raising her voice, she shouts across the restaurant to Leon, who nearly drops his teapot in shock, in what sounds like Mandarin.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, Ling!" is the only warning Halle gets before Leon flings his red hoodie towards the cashier. Miraculously, Ling catches the hoodie and they avoid getting smacked in the face by its sleeves. She slips it on while waving them goodbye, smiling smugly at her older brother.

They decide to walk home while flipping through the notes they made. The remarks on the pot-stickers and osmanthus jelly might be able to make up half of their review, but there's no way they can dedicate that much of their article to only two dishes when the menu offers so many more. But to cover the entire menu on their own would take countless visits, enough that it'd get suspicious.

Next visit, they'll have to take someone with them. But who to bring?


	7. Penultimate

"Are you free tomorrow?"

Raivis catches the ping-pong ball before it can roll off the table, shaking his head in the process. "I have to practice for my violin exam. Why do you ask?"

"I was wondering if you wanted to go to a restaurant with me," Halle responds. They hit the ball with their paddle and send it over the table, where their friend intercepts it. "It's kind of sad, eating at restaurants alone."

He dives to the side and hits the ball with a quiet ping. "Have you asked anyone else?"

"Ella has to go to church and Erika's going to be working. I always forget I'm the only one out of all of you without a life."

"Well, not _really_ ," he says. "You're on the school tennis team, plus you're always typing something up on your laptop and you guard it, like, with your life. A hundred years later you'll end up on those shows where they try to uncover unsolved mysteries, like, 'what was Halle Grieg writing? Guess we'll never know!'"

They hit the ball particularly hard with a snort, though it unfortunately doesn't _thonk_ Raivis in the head like they wanted. "Erika knows, and so does Ella."

"So it's just a secret you're keeping from me?"

"Pretty much."

The ping-pong ball bounces off their belly and back onto the table, where it rolls halfway across their side before stopping. Raivis gives them the meanest glare he can muster, meaning they level what can at most be called a disappointed look. Halle reaches for the ball and sends it across the table again. "So you're sure you won't be free?

"Uh-huh. I gotta do well in this exam or I won't be able to go to this summer intensive that I've been wanting to go to since I started taking lessons. I sure as hell am not missing the chance."

"Ooh, good luck." They miss the ball again and run to pick it up from the floor, continuing, "I'll ask if my brother's free, then."

Raivis drops the ball into the canister next to the ping-pong table instead of hitting it back and stretches. "Let's go back upstairs. I think we have some leftover sweets in the kitchen."

The two of them stomp up the stairs and out of the basement, just barely managing to dodge the cat on the way to the kitchen. Raivis goes straight for the fridge, flings open the door and pulls out a plate triumphantly. On the plate are four pastry things that look a bit like tarts with their crimped, deep-brown crusts and vibrant orange filling. He pulls back the cling-film over it and hands Halle one of the pastries before taking one himself. "These are called _sklandu rauši_ ," he explains. "Dad likes to make them really sweet, but he says it's not really authentic. They're still amazing, though."

They're about to take a bite when Raivis intercepts them with a piece of tissue. "Don't let any crumbs fall!"

This time with tissue ready to catch whatever crumbles off, Halle bites into the pastry. The orange filling turns out to be made of carrots, melt-in-their-mouth soft and almost creamy with how tender it is. There's just a hint of tartness that keeps the rich carrots from making the dish too filling, and they can taste the faintest hint of vanilla if they concentrate hard enough. "Are you sure they're not supposed to be sweet?" They blurt.

"Nope." Raivis manoeuvres to catch a falling piece of his treat before it can fall to the floor. "The ones they make back in Latvia are kinda, uh… neutral-tasting, I guess is the word? They're not particularly sweet or savoury, is what I'm trying to say."

They finish off the _sklandu rauši_ and run upstairs again, this time to Raivis' bedroom. "We still have an hour before you have to go home." He grabs his Nintendo Switch off his desk and grins. "How 'bout a game of _Mario Kart_?"

…

Halle trips over a stack of books, a binder and a hoodie they're pretty sure belongs to Henrik on the way to their brother's desk, but Stellan doesn't look up from his laptop even at the commotion. He only turns to them once they're standing right next to him, signing annoyedly, _what._

They glance at the grand total of four words (half of which are swears) displayed on Stellan's laptop. "I'm assuming you can't go for lunch tomorrow."

 _Nope, too busy suffering._ He gestures at the document on his screen. _Have an essay due on Monday._

"You're starting an essay due Monday on a Saturday evening?"

Stellan glares at them. _Yes. Now get out of my room._ He emphasises the command by flipping them off at the end.

Unwilling to subject themself to more of their brother's silent wrath, Halle steps around the various obstacles littered across the floor and hightails it out of the room.

They promptly kick their backpack the moment they step into their own bedroom. _I really need to tidy up my stuff._

…

They still can't find someone to go to Wang's with the next afternoon, so the ride there is a solitary one again — at least, it seems like it until the bus stops in front of the city hall and in comes Madeline, Matthieu Bonnefoy's twin sister. Halle waves at her, pulling their beg aside so that she can sit next to them. "Hey."

She smiles faintly. "Good afternoon… er…"

"Halle," they supply.

"Yes, Halle." Madeline's fingers play with the ribbon tied to the end of her braid as she speaks. "Where are you headed?"

"Just off to lunch. How about you?"

"I'm going to have lunch, too," she replies. "I'm going to this restaurant named _Wang's_."

What a coincidence. "So am I."

"My boyfriend works there."

Their mind goes to Leon for a moment, even though Madeline's a good two years older than him and they don't seem like the type to have met. Halle settles for answering, "I think your brother told me about him."

"Ah, of course he did." She picks at the end of the ribbon. "Matthieu can't ever resist gossiping, can he?"

The two of them get off at the same bus station, then stroll to _Wang's_. The cashier beams at them when the door opens. "Hey, Madeline!"

She nods at her. "Nice to see you, Ling."

"And welcome back to you too." Ling addresses them next. "Will it be a table of one again?"

"Actually," Halle says quickly, "can you get a table for two? I'll be sitting with Madeline."

"Oh, of course." She leads them to a table near the kitchens, where a pair of menus are already waiting.

Madeline waits until Ling is out of earshot before demanding, "why did you ask for us to be seated together? I wanted to sit alone."

All that's running through Halle's mind is a repeat of, _oh crap, oh no, what the hell did I just do, what is happening,_ but they manage to choke out, "I'm sorry, I don't know why I did that. But, uh, I was thinking that maybe we could share the stuff we order, or something? You know, the more the merrier."

She rubs her temples. "I would've appreciated a warning, at the very least, but all right. Go see what you want to order."

They open the menu. Without Leon as a guide this time, the order will be entirely up to them. After flicking through the dishes for a while, they finally settle on the deep-fried tofu, which he recommended last time, and braised pork served with something called _mui choi_. Once Madeline has decided too, she waves Leon over.

"Oh, hey." He waves at Madeline. "Haven't seen you here in a while." He turns to Halle next. "And I see you've come back. Would it be weird to ask for a name, or…?"

"My name's Halle. You're Leon, right?"

"Yeah," he confirms, pulling out his notepad. "You ready to order yet?"

Aside from the tofu and pork, they also order a toasted, buttered bun and a pair of Portuguese egg tarts. Leon sweeps away, and Halle prepares their notebook under the table.

The bun arrives first, which Madeline cuts in half. While eating their half of the bun, they learn that trying to hold a notebook open, write and eat at the same time is pretty much impossible, so Halle finishes it before penning it down on a brand new page. The bun is crispy all the way through, sandwiching a thick, salty slice of butter that melts slowly as they eat. It's literally just bread and butter, but they somehow manage to dedicate a couple of paragraphs to it, finishing the remarks with, _there's just something beautiful and delicious in the simplicity of buttered, toasted bread, and this restaurant encapsulates that beautiful, delicious simplicity perfectly._

They split the tofu and pork next. The deep-fried tofu has a crispy, delicate crust that has just enough spice to be exciting yet not overwhelming, and the interior is smooth and silky, almost like a pudding of sorts. _Tofu gets such a bad rap as some sort of "gross vegan food" by the media,_ the notebook records, _but that's probably because the people trying it haven't had real tofu. In that case, Wang's has you covered with a light, airy deep-fried treat that definitely doesn't deserve to be called "gross"._

The _mui choi_ served with the pork turns out to be a sort of cured vegetable that's interestingly crunchy. Paired with the tender pork, the dish delivers a rich umami flavour they've never tasted before. The verdict: _this dish is perfect for anyone who loves rich, intense flavours — the combination of pork and mui choi — cured vegetables — will knock your socks off._

Lastly, they take an egg tart each. "I'm pretty sure my boyfriend made these," Madeline says as she observes it. "He's a really good baker, maybe even better than my brother."

The custard filling plays well with the buttery, flaky shell, and the charred topping of the tart tastes almost smoky. Halle finishes the entire tart before scribbling in their notebook again, smudging the page in pastry flakes while lauding, _this egg tart is not too sweet, for those who don't like too much sugar in their desserts, but is instead fragrant with the flavours of egg, butter and vanilla. The flaky crust and almost-runny custard filling will cause quite a mess, though, so it might not be the best thing to order for your children, not unless you have a pack of wet wipes handy._

Madeline stands up and disappears into the kitchen once she's finished her tart, and emerges with a young man in tow. He takes his hair net off, revealing dark hair like Leon's, and quickly takes his glasses off to wipe them on his shirt. They approach the table, and Madeline introduces, "this is my boyfriend Vicente."

"Hi there." Vicente doesn't hold out a hand for them to shake, instead just nodding at them. "How are you liking the food here?"

"It's pretty good." Halle closes their notebook, slips the pen into the spine, and slowly slides it towards their bag.

Leon shows up with their receipt, which he sets down on the table while glancing at Vicente. "Hey, you're out of the kitchen."

"You sound very surprised."

"Bro, you pretty much live in there the entire day," Leon teases. "But again, I'm not surprised it's Madeline who gets you to finally come out and get some fresh air. You're totally whipped for her."

"Anyways," he continues, "I was just talking to this nice customer over here."

"You mean Halle? This is their third time here."

"You don't have to talk about me like I'm not here, you know."

"Right, right, sorry." Leon gives them a playful jab in the ribs, and they jump at the touch. "Anyways, pay up when you want to leave, and all that stuff. By the way, what's up with that notebook you carry around everywhere?"

 _Ah, crap._ "Oh, it's just… homework. Yeah. My school gives us lots of work to do." They grab the notebook and shove it into the bag. "Yeah," they say again.

"I've got a notebook that kinda looks like yours, though I don't use it for homework. I just use it to write stories and stuff."

"That's cool."

Leon shrugs. "I guess. If you come by again I might show it to you."

Both him and Vicente go back to work after a while, and they leave the restaurant once they've paid. The review's so close, so damn close to being done, it only needs a few more paragraphs. Halle looks back at their notes on the ride home, and decides that the next visit to _Wang's_ , marking the completion of the review, will be their last.


End file.
